One-shot: ghosts with just voices
Title: ghosts with just voices
Author: lealpotter
Rating: R
Warning: Body image issues.
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Dave/Kurt/Sebastian
Word Count: 1795
A/N: Ninth on a series of fills for my own self-indulging prompfest on Tumblr.
Prompt: K/D/S: Dave insecure, shy.
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It hits him sometimes, how beautiful they both are.
Like this, when he walks in on them unannounced, and they’re wrapped into each other, Sebastian’s long lines and sharp angles clasping around the soft paleness and smooth curves of Kurt’s body.
It’s so fucking beautiful, and lovely, and yeah, really fucking hot, and all those words ever invented to describe those kind of people, the kind that aren’t Dave.
Sweaty, chubby, about a 100 pounds overweight, ordinary Dave.
Seriously, just the other day he started combing back his hair in his obsessive search for bald spots.
And sorry, but it’s not like he can grow hair follicles when there weren’t any to begin with, and he has never waxed his fucking eyebrows in his life.
Dave works out.
Dave diets.
Dave is still chubby, no, about 100 pounds overweight. Dave sweats like a fucking racehorse in August at midday.
And who the fuck knows what else he’s gonna be by the time he’s thirty.
Sometimes he just doesn’t want to have sex, okay.
He doesn’t really feel like undressing in front of two could-be underwear models, doesn’t want to see his huge paws on them, doesn’t want to wheeze and pant all over them, to crush them under his huge, hairy (for now, for now), stinky self.
So he says he wants to watch; Sebastian smirks and calls him a ‘kinky old bastard’; Kurt blushes all the way to that gorgeous cock of his and kisses Dave quick and dirty before sauntering over to the bed. Dave gets off alone like never before and takes care of them after, wiping off cum and saliva and lube from their damp, flushed skin. Still in his t-shirt and boxers, he lies behind an extremely naked Kurt and reaches around him to cup Sebastian’s ass, and only goes to sleep long after they’re snoring softly next to him.
He stops showering with them, eventually.
It’s a matter of logistics, really. Their shower starts feeling cramped even with just two, so two adult males plus Dave is about as comfortable as it would be squeezing into Kurt’s impossible jeans.
They stop badgering him about it, too. Sebastian shrugs, walking away uninterested, and Kurt lets his eyes linger on him for a while on the doorway before he follows.
Dave doesn’t go to the gym with them.
The gym is just an excuse for Sebastian to contort Kurt into ridiculous, vaguely obscene positions until Kurt is red-faced from both the effort and their hysterical laughter at the scandalized (and in notable cases, lascivious) looks they get. They spend less than twenty minutes ‘exercising’ and then hit the juice bar, where they pass the time by creating absurd and more often than not undrinkable concoctions.
Dave has no time for that kind of nonsense.
He gets up at five in the morning for his jogging session; at 6 AM he’s doing laps at the local swimming pool; by half past eight he’s getting home ready to drop and sleep for a week. Kurt and Sebastian are at the breakfast table feeding each other french toast, and arguing over who emptied the coffee pot last, and playing footsie in their sleep socks, and Dave just wants to yell and beat shit up because that should also be his life.
He doesn’t really eat with them anymore. In front of them. Near them.
He’s a fucking grown-up, he has earned his fucking independence and he pays for a third of everything, so he can very well eat when he goddamn pleases, and Kurt and Sebastian can shove their hurt looks and recriminating sneers up both their asses and live fucking happily ever after.
He stops sleeping in the same bed as them.
He spends half a month’s salary on the comfiest, largest sofa he can find.
He only realizes he’s started referring to the three of them as ‘I’ and ‘they’ instead of ‘we’ when it stops sounding wrong.
He starts looking for apartments.
It’s unsustainable, really; Kurt looks close to bursting into tears most of the times, and Sebastian looks close to bursting something on Dave’s nose all the time.
He loves the both of them more than he’s ever loved anyone, than he’s ever thought you could love someone, and he’s making them fucking miserable.
They talk in whispers when he’s in the room, but there’s a whole lot of yelling when they think Dave has gone out, or when they still haven’t noticed he has come back.
His moving out is quiet, understated.
Actually, he runs. He picks those few hours in the day when they’re both out, crams most of his belongings into three huge cardboard boxes and leaves the rest behind, for them to do with them whatever they please.
He doesn’t hear from them for a while, but when he does it’s like a fucking earthquake has come upon him to rattle him up good before the tornado gets there.
They burst in through the door and it’s the most beautiful sight Dave has been blessed with in so long that he almost goes down on his knees to weep out his gratitude.
Almost.
Instead, he grunts at them to get the fuck out of his house.
That’s when Kurt starts crying for real.
He knows how Kurt hates crying. How easy the tears come whenever he’s angry, or frustrated, how difficult it is for him to stand up for himself through the blurry haze. He is always violent with it, wipes off the wetness, stomps around and clenches his face muscles to get it to stop.
He doesn’t do that now. He stands there by the ratty armchair that Dave salvaged in some backyard sale he can’t remember, and just lets it flow, cries like he’s helpless, cries like he’s broken.
Dave wants to snarl at Sebastian to hold him, to console him, to fucking do something instead of just standing there, but Sebastian clenches his jaw and levels his glare at a point on the wall three inches to the left of Dave’s ear.
Then Kurt starts talking, and it’s a thousand times worse.
“We-we can do better, we can - we can do other stuff, more stuff, better stuff, we can b-be better, j-just tell us and we will, we will, Dave, anything you want -“
“Shut up, Kurt,” says Sebastian, and Dave shivers because his voice sounds dead.
“Is it - is it someone else? Other people, we can, we could try something, work it out, look at o-options - or maybe it’s just space, and we can do that, we could get a bigger house and when you’re s-sick of us you could have your own - your own -“
“Kurt.”
“We could go out more, or stay at home more, or we could - vacations, somewhere n-nice and quiet, or loud and full, or we-we,” his sobs grow worryingly raspy by them,” we could take a break if that’s - but don’t - don’t go away, don’t disappear again, I can’t - we can’t -“
“Shut. The fuck. Up, Kurt.”
“Is it me?” he asks quietly, breathlessly, but Dave can’t see him through the red blur that is his vision, and he certainly can’t talk. “I know I’ve - I’ve been letting myself go a little for a while now, but I can fix it, I know I - I can work out more and - tanning beds, and -“
“Fuck you, shut up!” growls Sebastian, and he doesn’t sound dead anymore, but like he wants to be.
“No, I won’t!” yells Kurt back, his face red and blotchy, his eyes like stars; Sebastian sneers at him, his spine stiff like a broomstick handle, his face frozen.
God, Dave loves them so fucking much, he can’t fucking stand it, so goddamn painful -
“There has to be - this can’t just happen, I can’t let it, I can’t let him, I can’t-” Kurt sobs are turning into wails. “I’ll do anything, everything, Dave, please, will you just look at me, just for a little while, please, you haven’t - so long, you haven’t looked-“
“It’s obviously not you.”
They’re trying to kill him. This is their revenge, Dave figures.
Sebastian isn’t angry. Sebastian was never angry.
Sebastian is resigned.
“I’ll move out tomorrow. I’ll be out by three PM, that’s when the moving van is coming,” he informs them. “Feel free to bring your stuff back by then.”
“B-Bastian,” whimpers Kurt before slumping back against the wall.
Sebastian turns to him with a pained expression that looks like it could be a smile in some other life the three of them might have lived in.
“Don’t, baby. You know it’s for the best.”
Kurt hugs himself without a word, his eyes finally dry, but stony.
Sebastian turns back to Dave, and the longing, the desperation he had for Kurt is still there when he takes in overweight, sweaty, ordinary Dave.
“Just don’t pull anything like that on him ever again, you fuck. I’ll - I’ll kill you,” and Dave believes him, but he still doesn’t move.
It isn’t Kurt’s huddled form or Sebastian’s retreating back that finally shake him off of his stupor, but the strangled sound that comes out of his own throat. It’s as if his body is finally, mercifully rebelling against him,rolling up its metaphorical sleeves and spitting into its palms, rubbing them and snarling ‘alright, now, you big fucker, you’re out for this round’. He stumbles forward, trips over his own feet and the old fraying rug, tackles Sebastian from behind and drags him kicking and screaming over to where Kurt is watching them with big round eyes.
He practically slams Sebastian against the wall and growls ‘the fuck do you think you’re going, baby’ which is a little weird, and not only because he never calls Sebastian baby outside of sex. He bites into Sebastian mouth, and is probably close to injuring him permanently when Kurt tugs shyly on his sleeve. He breaks away from Sebastian’s bottom lip that looks shockingly beautiful all swollen and hurt with the tiniest drop of blood that Dave smears gently with his thumb. They’re both looking at him, all huge, hungry and furious eyes; Kurt nuzzles into his shoulder and Sebastian kicks his ankle hard enough to send him crashing to the floor and them both with him.
They fuck hard and fast and soft and slow right then and there, and for the rest of the day and the entire night.
Dave gets called a ‘fucking idiot’ lots of times, and Sebastian gets a lot of ownership marks, and Kurt just grins and snuggles between them, their joined heartbeats lulling him into the best sleep he’s had in months.